


Retribution

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Challenge Response, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-12-02
Updated: 1999-12-02
Packaged: 2018-11-10 05:45:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11121102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Close encounters of the Ian kind.





	Retribution

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

 

Subtitle  
this one BLAME ANAGI

Subtitle this one BLAME ANAGI. We were chatting earlier tonight and she said she was still waiting for someone to pick up the Vecchio/Ian challenge. This is the result. Otter me if you will; Silvina has already worked me over better than Zuko's goons for what I did to her Ray. All comments of any kind received with unadulterated joy. Author: Cat to you, Acer canadensis to the Archive. Pairings: Ray Vecchio/ Ian MacDonald, mental RayV/BF. Rating: Wow, my very first NC-17! Universe: Not sure, but it's definitely not this one. The real Ray Vecchio would never ever ever act like this unless somebody held a dropper of pinkeye bacteria over Benny's baby blues and forced him to.

Warnings: Contains some minor violence and non-consentual sexual activity.

Sequels: NO! I already have too many stories in the works! But Silvina hates this one and is writing her own Ray/Ian, which should be up in a few days.

RETRIBUTION

"You little worm! I told you if I ever saw you again I'd strangle you!"

Ray had gotten a call on his cell phone that morning. Ben had been assigned to watch a prisoner at the Consulate, but had just remembered some urgent act of goodwill and thankless service to others that he had to perform, and there was nobody else at the Consulate, and could Ray possibly fill in? He was sure he would be finished within an hour, or possibly two at the latest.

Naturally, Ray had said yes, since things were pretty slow at the station, and presented himself to play surrogate Mountie at the Consulate. Ben had been waiting for him outside his office door, and when Ray had arrived, he had said hurriedly, "Thanks, Ray. He's in my office," and bolted for the door.

Ray had called after him "Hey, Fraser, is he dangerous?" and Ben had stopped short and spun around, looking slightly flustered.

"No... no, not at all. Goodbye, Ray." This time, the fleeing Mountie made it out the door. Puzzled, Ray had knocked and entered the office. There, spinning himself around in Fraser's chair, Ray had caught the first glimpse of the man he was set to guard.

Which explained why he was now turning an interesting shade of mottled purple.

The round, cheerfully smiling face that was turned to him blanched with sheer terror as Ian MacDonald recognised his new captor. Without either of them seeming to move a muscle, they were suddenly transported to a new position halfway across the room. Ian's back was pressed to the wall, and Ray's hands were twisted in his shirt collar, holding him there.

"I blew up my car because of you! This after I gave up my vacation in Florida and ruined my shoe pushing said car out of a ditch and ended up hitchhiking across the border covered in mud in a carful of helpful Canadians while being chased by the Canadian mob!" Ian made a small, strangled noise, and Ray shoved him harder against the wall. "Oh, no you don't. Don't you even try to talk, 'cause I know it's gonna be a lie. So the last time we met, you get me involved in breaking into a protected military base in search of aliens-"

"Akshulee..." Ian gasped, "It uz my fiansaaay..."

"Shut up! And you almost get me courtmartialed, and they only let me go because my lieutenant convinced them I was insane. After that, I got every single stupid and dirty and tedious case that came into the precinct for a month because of you!" Froth was beginning to form at the corners of Ray's mouth.

Ian stared at him, wide-eyed. 'Time really does slow down just before you die,' he thought.

"Well?! Don't you have anything to say?!"

"I... I'm sorrreee..." Ian managed, before he was shoved against the wall for a fourth time, and Ray was suddenly shouting into his face from a distance of about two inches.

"You're SORRY? You do all that and you're SORRY? Oh, no, I'll show you sorry! I'll..." Ray paused, unable to think of a suitable punishment. Death was too easy.

There was total silence in the office as green eyes shot sheer anger at the terrified dark ones a few inches away. The tableau could have been a display at a wax museum, except for the motion of Fraser's desk plant stretching its little leaves towards the sun a few millimeters an hour. Neither of the men moved at all.

Slowly, Ray found himself falling into the dark pools, being drawn in, as the fire raging in his blood found outlet. With a sudden change of grip, he pressed his lips to his prisoner's, a hot, hard, bruising kiss.

For a second, the Master of Improvisation was completely at a loss. Then, remarkably, he was back on his feet, kissing Ray back for all he was worth. He saw his chance of getting out of this encounter alive, and he took it. When his captor pulled away for breath, Ian moaned.

When Ray opened his eyes, he saw blue ones gazing back at him... sky-blue eyes darkened by desire so that they looked almost black. Dark lashes surrounded them, set in a pale face framed by silky dark hair. Inhaling, the scent of the partner he desired filled his nostrils and crept into his brain. Half of his mind, crazed by the hormones of anger, pushed itself into the lie, willing itself to believe. The othe half knew the truth, and still sought retribution.

He kissed Ian again, fiercely. "Kiss me," he hissed, half ordering, half pleading. "Kiss me. Make it up to me."

Swallowing his fear, Ian complied. Awkwardly at first, he slid his tongue into the detective's mouth, and was rewarded by Ray's releasing his shirt and sliding his hands down to rest on Ian's hips. Growing absorbed in his role, he moved away from Ray's mouth, kissing along the jawline to nuzzle the tender spot below the ear, then working his way down the slender throat to dip his tongue into the small hollow just above the collarbone. Ray threw his head back and gasped his pleasure, mouthing the name he did not dare even to whisper.

Ian's hands slid down Ray's shirtfront, finding the small nipples and rubbing circles around them with his thumbs. Ray moaned. "Harder!"

Glancing down at Ray's crotch, Ian answered "Yeah, I can see that."

The joke was a bad idea. Ray's eyes flew open, maddened by lust and hate. "You wanna do something about it?" Ian stared at him, and Ray stared back, his gaze filled with silent command. Slowly, Ian returned to his task. Unbuttoning the top button of Ray's silk shirt, he wondered if he could possibly drag this out long enough to be rescued by the Mountie's return. He snuck a peek at the clock, and to his horror realized that Fraser had been gone for less than fifteen minutes, and could not be expected back for at least another forty-five. No help there. Best, then, to just get this over with.

Unbuttoning the rest of the shirt swiftly, Ian bent his head and swirled his tongue around one nipple, his hands running back and forth over the firm flesh of Ray's chest and stomach. Ray's fingers tangled in Ian's silky dark locks as he closed his eyes and pushed himself back into his fantasy.

Without allowing himself to think about what he was going to do,  
Ian forced his hands to move lower. He touched curly dark hair, hard  
ridges of ribs, tough softness of abdominal muscles that moved with Ray's  
breath. One finger dipped briefly into his navel, causing him to jerk  
sharply. Moving his hands carefully apart, Ian felt hipbones, then thighs.  
He steeled himself and brought his hands together.

He faltered at the first touch of the hard heat between Ray's legs. 'Focus, Ian. Believe the story you tell,' he told himself. Concentrating on what he was doing with his mouth, Ian let his hands move automatically.

It was over in less than a minute. Ray's orgasm passed with a wordless cry, and his lips once again formed the shape of the name he would not allow himself to say.

Pulling away, Ray went to the window and began to rebutton his clothing, unable even to look at the man who sat slumped in the corner of the room. Once dressed, he leaned heavily on the window sill, and rested his forehead against the cool glass, closing his eyes in an effort to shut out the last twenty minutes. Taking a deep breath, he spoke in his normal voice.

"Look, Ian, I'm, uh... yeah." He raised his head. "Look, when B-when Constable Fraser gets back..."

"Don't worry. I'm not gonna tell him." Ian stared at the floor. "It's not like anyone would believe me anyway."

"Benny would." Ray's voice carried quiet conviction, and he met Ian's eyes steadily for a few seconds. Then he looked away, out of the window. "Problem is, he'd believe me too. And I don't even know what I'd tell him."

END


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